


eat your heart

by vicariously kingly (pelted)



Series: Monsters and Cowboys AU [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves and Vampires, Hosea would disagree, M/M, No Spoilers, old men trying to beat time, so far Dutch is sure he's winning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 16:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16685416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelted/pseuds/vicariously%20kingly
Summary: Despite their confidence otherwise, they were never meant to grow old.( or: an introspective piece about a new vampire's longest lasting friend. )





	eat your heart

“Look at you. Ancient. There’s no counting grey hairs when none of them is anything but.”

“It’s hard to take you seriously when you look Jack’s age. Should be about time for your voice to break, shouldn’t it?”

An undignified snort and guffaw broke the situation’s mock seriousness. Out of sight behind pointedly closed tent flaps, the offending youth-that-wasn’t wrapped a hand around Hosea’s neckerchief and tugged him closer. 

He went like a tree caught in rolling wind; swayed forward until their noses were an inch apart, one set of living lungs puffing a warm breath across the other’s chapped lips. Dutch had him seated on the bed while he had sat in the chair opposite, as if this were Hosea’s tent. As if they were actually going to be discussing business.

There was, of course, business to discuss. The locals - Grays, Braithwaites, and the sorry lot forced to work for them - were simpletons, but they knew their land. The latest plan to work the two families against one another had more than a few worrying kinks to straighten before they could trust it wouldn’t unravel and smack them all in the face.

But as a quiet, new moon night set, and the camp busied themselves with ridiculous songs around the fire, as nobody thought to bother with anybody’s closed tent, as everybody took a moment to breathe in relief that they all felt like the first breeze over a blazing hot prairie --

As Dutch started resembling the man Hosea’d known him to be --

It was difficult to focus on business.

To be fair, Hosea wasn’t really trying.

 _I’ll deliver you the world as it should be. Free._

This, Dutch said in not so few words, in love as he was with his own verbosity. Hosea heard it for what it was all the same, old as the as-of-yet (-- and it was _yet_ , it would always be _yet_ , for better or worse, in sickness and health --) undelivered promise was, even as -- maybe especially as -- he took the time to undo his shirt collar’s top buttons. His fingers knew where to go even as Dutch’s smoothed in distracting strokes along his sides. He mused on traditions and the tension of a fall before the drop even as Dutch tipped him back on the bed, his oldest friend quick to throw a leg over and follow along.

If Hosea winced as his back popped and old muscles burned at finally being horizontal, it was no matter. He was growing used to that, too. 

He had his hands splayed on Dutch’s hips, his thumbs rubbing soft lines under the man’s untucked shirt. He went to shut Dutch up with a kiss - another tradition, one very much treasured -, but found the other elusive as he pulled back, _sat back_ , his hands suddenly pressing as heavy weights upon Hosea’s chest. 

Whenever Dutch voluntarily stopped talking when he was in a good mood, it boded ill. The look on his face echoed the sentiment, as it appeared he was no longer in such a good mood. 

Feeling like a spooked horse that had sighted a cougar but couldn’t find it again, Hosea frowned and asked at a whisper, “What is it?”

He curled a hand around Dutch’s wrist. The skin underneath, marble-cold and unblemished by time or hardship, would not budge from his chest. To be fair, Hosea did not try.

“I never understood why you wouldn’t join me.” 

Oh. This.

 _Really?_ Hosea thought, and made a point to scoff in derision, his hands rubbing along the top of Dutch’s thighs. _This_ was not the time. Part of being older meant not being able to fall into bed with abandon at the drop of a hat. Part of them being who they were meant they didn’t have the opportunity or energy to fall into bed without some level of planning. The two conditions meeting made for a rare combination that they’d be fools to pass up.

Dutch, unfortunately, did not agree.

“But as time goes on, I’m understanding even less.”

Hosea resisted the urge to push him off his lap. Lately, if Dutch didn’t want to move, he wouldn’t; the reminder that he wouldn’t would ruin any last chance of recovering the mood.

So, instead, he was an adult, and used his words. 

“Not now, Dutch.”

“Is it your concern about food shortages? There are plenty of fish in that sea, brother.” He spoke as if the prospect was nothing more than business. To him, Hosea figured it was. “I can think of more than a few dullards in this swamp alone who the world would be better off without.”

Hosea didn’t bother hiding how tired the conversation was making him.

He put up his token protest all the same. “And if we get stuck in the mountains again? You’ll, what, drain Molly dry?”

Dutch’s lip curled. Disgust or eagerness composed it, and Hosea wasn’t sure what to do with either emotion taking the lead with how Dutch had been acting.

O’Shea had better watch her neck, was all he could think. She didn’t realize just how thin a string Dutch had her dangling on. She didn’t realize she was no Annabelle. 

“Getting driven up there was a mistake,” he said, his voice level despite the look, “that we won’t be repeating.”

“You can’t predict that.”

“We can plan for it.” Hosea worried he was about to go on about Tahiti again. Thankfully, he knew he didn’t have to impress Hosea-- though he did, time and again, without trying. 

Instead, he took up a different conversation that wasn’t much better.

He said, his dark eyes wide. Attentive. His hand, no longer anchored over his beating heart, raised and brushed back his thinning, greying hair. It then lingered, cupping his cheek, his thumb caressing his bottom lip.

It was as beseeching as Dutch ever got.

Even knowing what he did about what they all were and what had gotten them to where they were, Hosea couldn’t stop the painful skip of his heart.

“Time isn’t being kind to you. Let me fix that.” His tone dropped, almost fervent. “Before it takes you away from me.” 

“Once we’ve disappeared.”

Dutch’s eyebrows rose, slowly. Disbelieving, but hoping Hosea’d convince him otherwise.

Swallowing around nothing, dry throat scratching, Hosea - as Dutch always inspired him to do, foolishly - didn’t give himself the time to reconsider.

“We get our money and we get out of here,” he said, realizing it was a promise too late to retract, “and I’ll join you.”

“In eternity?” Dutch wouldn’t blink. Wouldn’t look away. “Or, failing that, in hell?”

Hosea was an excellent poker player.

He did not flinch.

“I imagine we’d meet again there anyway, Dutch.” Then, as Dutch’s expression refused to waiver from its silent plea, Hosea tightened his grip around his wrist and _promised._ “I don’t talk to talk, Dutch.”

“I know.” A smile. His thumb pressed down, briefly touching upon the points of Hosea’s canines. His own, comparatively sharpened, he bared, the white edges shining despite the tent’s low-light. “ _I know._ ”

Finally, he dipped closer. Finally, he swept Hosea up in a kiss and stopped prattling on. When he finally sank fangs into Hosea’s shoulder, taking little - so little, as if he were afraid of being the cause of Hosea’s old heart giving out, even though Hosea could’ve told him that he most certainly would be - he covered the mark (new among a littering of old, a few scarred, most lost) with words of admiration, of promise, of prospects that glittered like gold in a future so bright as to hurt.

Dutch's own, singular set of puncture marks, surrounded with thin, blue, swirling veins long-bruised and never-to-heal, sat in the same place as the ones he gave and would give again to Hosea. That promise didn't need to be said.

As they struggled out of dust-streaked clothes and Hosea took him, feeling like an old soul out of time in more than one way-- he had to wonder, would there ever be a day he would tire of Dutch talking? 

If they had eternity, he supposed he might yet find out.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> did not expect to care as much as I did about these two, let's just say
> 
> find me on tumblr @ [unkingly](https://unkingly.tumblr.com/) if you like!


End file.
